


Salt of the Earth

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [38]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, F/M, Kidnapping, So don't worry, Vomiting, alternatively titled 'welcome to the latest essay on why frank castle DESERVES FRIENDS DAMMIT', and all you wanted to do was buy your boyfriend a birthday present dammit, and this absolutely pertains to the series, but this is one hundred percent a salt fic, hello and welcome to my salt, i am SALTY DAMMIT, mentions of child abuse, no doubt about it, there's a happy ending though, this is literally a byproduct of netflix cancelling the punisher series, this isn't just self indulgent crack, you just have a rough time of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 05:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17974985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: Your day starts out pretty awesome. You're out adventuring, buying a birthday present for Piotr, and you didn't have to steal a car or sneak out of the mansion to do it!It goes downhill pretty fast when someone tries to kidnap you, though.Fortunately for you, you run into Frank Castle when you least expect it....no, literally. You literally run into Frank Castle when you least expect it.(Set after the 'Rubber Meets Road' fics, and it should be set after the 'Decisions, Decisions' fics, but does the latter actually work?Who knows. Not me. Enjoy!)[All warnings in the tags.]





	Salt of the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics are from "Zombie" by Bad Wolves.
> 
> Bible verse is Matt. 5:13.

_"It’s the same o-ld thing/ in 2018/ In your head/ in your head/ they are dying…”_

You sing along with the music blaring through the store speakers under your breath as you glare at the stack of sketchbooks sitting on the shelf in front of you. You’re at an art store in the small town area Piotr likes going to for outings –the very same place the two of you had your first date, in fact—and you’re trying to pick out a good birthday gift for your dearly beloved boyfriend.

Because Piotr is, without a doubt, the world’s most fantastic boyfriend, and you are not about to be shown up by your own partner.

You know, not to mention the fact that you want to get him something good. Something he’ll like.

So, first step. Art store. Always a good place to start, considering that Piotr is an artist and loves getting any art related gifts.

And, bonus! You can get there legally,  _without_  Piotr’s help, because  _you_  have a driver’s license! One hundred percent legally obtained! Go you!

The money in your bank account that will be used to buy the gift/gifts isn’t legally obtained, because it’s a mix of funds from Wade and your uncle, but the cashier isn’t going to know that and you know Piotr isn’t going to berate you for it because he understands that your situation’s a little –a lot—fucked up to begin with.

Anyway. Back to the point

You’ve made it to the art store. You are currently in the art store. You are exactly where you need to be –which, if it wasn’t clear, is the art store.

Unfortunately, there are no steps after “get to the art store” because you have no idea what you’re doing.

Yes, you do art; you’re not on Piotr’s level, but you hold your own –and, dare you say it, but you’re improving!

But Piotr’s always handled the ‘supply buying,’ as it were, and now that you’re staring down what seems like thousands of options, you’re completely lost at sea.

_Okay_ , you tell yourself.  _Think. What does he need replaced?_

Pens. He’s always burning through pens –and erasers, come to think of it—with how regularly he uses them.

You smile to yourself as you dart over to the proper aisle. _I’m gonna own the fuck out of this_.

* * *

 

Once you get your footing, you nail the shopping session. You’re gonna have to hide the receipt from Piotr because you definitely went a little nuts, but he deserves and you have more than enough money so why not?

You hum happily along to the pop song of the moment as you drive back to the mansion, gifts safely tucked in the shotgun seat of your car. You’re flying down the highway –not literally, in the sense that you can actually fly or the sense that you’d be speeding—and—

There’s not a single other car in sight.

And that’s… a little weird. It’s early afternoon on a weekend. You’d think you’d see more travelers on the road.

Before you have too much time to overthink it, a massive black SUV comes up on your tail out of nowhere.

You yelp and lay on the horn when it rams into your bumper. “What the fuck, asshole?” You wrench the wheel, trying to stay on the road, and press the gas pedal down harder.

The SUV keeps pace with you, barely keeping off your back bumper as it tails you down the empty road.

You honk again and shift into the other lane before slowing down.

The SUV simply speeds ahead –and spins so that it’s sitting across both lanes of the highway, right in your path.

You shriek as you stomp on the brakes, but it’s too little, too late.

Your car slams into the side of the SUV, and everything goes dark.

 

* * *

 

The first thing you register is pain. So much of it, everywhere. Your head feels like it’s been put in a vice until it cracked, and your ribs ache with every breath you take.

The second thing you register is that you’re laying on your side in some sort of cramped, stuffy compartment. You can’t sit up, can’t really even move without bumping into a barrier of some sort.

 The third thing you register is that whatever you’re in is moving.

  _Oh, dear sweet Cthulhu have mercy, I’m in the trunk of a car_. You groan as you check your pockets for your phone and swear when you come up empty handed. “Shit! Okay, taillight. Find one of the taillights.”

It takes forever, between the pain you’re in and the cramped quarters, but you manage to find one of the taillights. You rip the carpet covering it away, then use your powers to punch it out.

You’re in a city, which is better then being on some backroad in the middle of the woods. City means people, which means phones, which means you’ve got a shot at calling someone and getting back to the X-Mansion. You suck in the fresh night air –you’ve been out for a while, which isn’t good—and try to formulate some sort of a plan.  _Maybe they’ll hit a light soon, and then I can break the hood open and get out_ —

The sound of tires screeching fills the air, followed by a heavy burst of gunfire.

You suck air through your teeth –part in surprise, part in pain—as the car comes to an abrupt stop.

“The fuck was that?” one of your abductor’s voices shouts from the cabin of the car, muffled but extremely pissed off.

You know about as much as they do, it would seem, and while you’re not fond of getting out of the car while there’s active gunfire, you know you’re not gonna get a better chance.

You slam the hood of the car open, sending it flying into the air, and bolt for the nearest alley before your kidnappers can react. You barely make it two feet into the shadows before you collapse against a wall, head spinning with blinding pain.  _Fuck. I think some of my ribs are broken_. You pant and gasp through the waves of agony, trying to keep from vomiting.

“Where’d she go?”

“She won’t have gotten far. Find her!”

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckuckfuck_ —

You grit your teeth and fly up to the nearest roof top. You do actually vomit –and almost pass out in it—once your feet hit the flat, paved surface. You collapse to your knees, arms shaking, and groan as you force yourself to your feet.  _Push through it. Come on. You need to find a way to call Piotr_.

You manage to run across the roof top, away from the sounds of your kidnappers’ voices, tears stinging your eyes at every jolt your body takes. You round a corner, hoping to find some sort of door inside—

You run into a black clad figure –literally, full body contact and everything—and scream as the two of you go down together. Adrenaline surges through your system, and you lash out at the person wildly.

“Woah –woah! Hey!”

You stop with a gasp when you see Frank Castle’s face –a little bruised and bloody, but not too much worse for wear considering his line of work—staring down at you. You groan and go limp. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“The fuck happened to you?” he grunts as he scans your various injuries.

“Car crash. Kidnapped.” You wince. “You know, the usual.” You flinch when you hear the voices of your abductors shouting –they’re getting closer—and shoot Frank a desperate look. “I need help.  _Please_. I lost my phone, I can’t call anyone for help—”

He pulls you to your feet and hooks one of your arms over his shoulders so he can support some of your weight. “I’ve got a van in an alley nearby. Let’s go.”

You do your best to keep pace with him and look over your shoulder jerkily when you hear more gunfire. “The fuck is that?”

“I made some friends,” he grunts as he guides you across the dark rooftop. “Left.”

“Sure sounds like it.” Gunfire pierces the air again –closer, you’re both being closed in on—and you shift your arm so that it’s around his waist and squeeze him against you as much as you can. “Which way’s the alley?”

“West, two blocks –Christ!”

If you were feeling better, you’d smirk at Frank’s exclamation when you launch the two of you into the air. As it is, you grimace and focus on not crashing into anything or dropping your only ticket out of here –here being Hell’s Kitchen, apparently.

You manage to find said alley and van –both of which could be charitably described as ‘creepy looking.’ You and Frank tumble to the cracked pavement, and then you’re retching against the dirty asphalt like a cat trying to hock up the biggest hairball of its life.

Frank gets you up on your feet an into the passenger side of the van in a matter of seconds. He mumbles an apology as he buckles you in, then gets into the driver’s side equally as fast and starts the engine.

“I’m gonna apologize in advance,” you gasp. “In case I throw up in your van.”

Frank makes the grunt equivalent of a shrug as he peels out of the alleyway. “Not the worst thing it’s seen.” 

 

* * *

 

He stops behind a massive apartment building about fifteen minutes later, cutting the engine as he unbuckles himself and opens the door. 

“What’re we doing?” you mumble. Now that you’re sitting down and not actively working on getting away from your kidnappers, exhaustion’s setting in. Fast.

“Can’t use my car to get’cha where you need to go,” Frank explains as he unbuckles you and half-drags, half-scoops you out of your seat. “We’ll need to borrow a ride. That, and you need some first aid for your head faster than you need a ride home.”

You frown as you touch your head, then blink when your hand comes away red and sticky. “Oh. Party.”

Frank chuckles as helps you stagger towards the fire escape. “Always is.”

“Wait, you’re gonna make me fucking climb all that?”

“Guy like me can’t exactly use the front door.”

“How high up are we going?”

“Floor fourteen.”

You give him a flat look. “I hate you.”

He chuckles again. “That how you thank all your rescuers?”

“It is if they make me climb up fourteen floors after going through a car accident.”

“Suppose that’s fair.”

You wince as you hook your arm around his waist again. “You’re gonna have to count; I need to focus on not dropping us.”

You manage to get up to the correct floor without dropping Frank once. He does, though, have to practically drag you to the right window. You whimper as he sets you down and taps on the glass pane.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hang in there.”

You can hear movement inside the apartment, and then the window opens.

A slim woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and wide blue eyes gives the two of you a horrified look. “Frank –what the fuck?”

He jerks his head at you. “She needs help.”

You stick out your hand –it’s not like you’ve got any better options. “I’m Y/N.”

Karen shakes your hand before backing away from the window so Frank can lift you inside. “I’m Karen Page. Let me grab my first aid kit.”

“I’ve got it,” Frank says as he shuts the window. “She needs a phone to call her boyfriend.”

“I lost mine in the car crash.”

It says something about Karen that she doesn’t even blink at your comment. Instead, she digs her phone out of her purse, unlocks it, and hands it you. “Here.”

“Sorry if I bleed on it,” you mumble as you dial Piotr’s number –you mentally thank your uncle for making you memorize phone numbers from an early age on—and try to avoid smearing Karen’s phone with blood as you lift the speaker end to your ear.

“It’s fine.” Karen nods in the direction that Frank went. “I guarantee you he’s done worse.”

The phone rings a few times before Piotr picks up. “ _Ya sluchu vas_.”

You start crying; after the day you’ve had, hearing his voice is the best damn thing in the world. “Piotr?”

His reaction is immediate, relief so evident in his voice you can practically see the expression on his face. “Y/N, where are you? I have been trying to reach you all day—”

“I got in a car crash; some chickenshits tried to run me off the road, and then they threw me in the trunk of a car, and—”

“What? Slow down. Wait, are you safe? Where are you?”

You groan as Frank and Karen help you sit on her couch, then laugh when you realize how  _fucking ridiculous_  the story you’re about to tell is gonna sound. “Yeah. You’re not gonna believe who I ran into.”

 

* * *

 

Frank takes over the phone once you’ve recapped everything for Piotr and reassured your darling boyfriend that, yes, you’re as okay as you can be and you’re in a safe place; he works out the details of how you’re getting back to the mansion while Karen works on getting you relatively cleaned and patched up. 

And Karen, to her credit, doesn’t seem all that alarmed by your –or Frank’s, for that matter—injuries. Concerned, yes, and maybe a little strained, but not scared.

She smiles weakly when you remark as much. “Yeah, well, you can’t really let all this freak you out to much if you associate with him.” She nods at Frank again.

“I didn’t think the Punisher had associates,” you mumble as she applies another bandage to what seemed to be a nasty cut on your forehead, if Frank’s and Karen’s reactions were anything to go by.

She huffs out a laugh at that. “I didn’t either, until I realized that I was one of them.”

“Yeah… yeah. No, we’ll get ‘er to you. Probably safer that way… nah, I’m sure. We’ll finish getting ‘er stable, and then I’ll drive her out. See you in a bit, Rasputin.”

You peer up at Frank as he ends the call and hands the phone back to Karen. “How’re we getting out of here?”

“I’ll drive you back once you’re patched up.”

Karen snorts and gives him an incredulous look. “I don’t remember saying you could ‘borrow’ my car.  _Again_.”

“I’ve got a ride—”

“What, your murder van?”

You giggle; it’s an apt description, really.

The corner of Frank’s mouth turns up –and  _holy shit_  the Punisher is actually  _smiling_. “What’s wrong with it? It’s got four wheels, it drives, it brakes, it steers. What more do you want?”

“Upholstery that doesn’t have bloodstains on them?”

“Aw, c’mon. It adds character.”

And, even with your probable concussion, you can tell that Frank and Karen are flirting.  _Hardcore flirting_ , even.

And that’s… interesting. You knew that Karen had to be someone that Frank trusted to even go to her in the first place, but you hadn’t banked on him  _liking her_ , too.

“Frank, you won’t be in Hell’s Kitchen. If you drive Y/N to the X-Mansion in your  _murder van_ , people are going to call the police. We’ll take my car.”

“‘ _We_?’”

Karen shoots him a defiant look. “You aren’t ‘borrowing’ my car again, Frank.” She moves out of the way so he can take over your ‘patching up’ and disappear somewhere out of your field of vision.

Frank crouches in front of the couch, still grinning as he rifles through Karen’s first aid kit. He pauses for a minute –and you recognize the look on his face as the ‘I’m about to be a little shit’ expression, which you’ve learned to identify from spending so much time with Wade—then says “Technically, I didn’t borrow it the first time.”

“Not helping your argument, Castle.”

You bite back a smirk as Frank huffs out something that, on another person, might be a chuckle.  _Very interesting_.

 

* * *

 

Once Frank declares that you’re unlikely to bleed on the interior of Karen’s car, she and Frank help you down to the parking garage of her apartment building. Frank crawls into the back with you –to make sure you don’t fall asleep, given your probable concussion and whatnot—while Karen gets into the driver’s seat and turns the car on. 

You wince as you try to sit in a way that doesn’t hurt, then give up on it and settle for letting your head rest against the car door. 

You’re tired. Now that you’re not running for your life or in the warm glow of Karen’s apartment, all you can process –feel—is your exhaustion. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, you’re uncomfortable, and every single tiny move you make hurts.

You are, however, wearing one of Frank’s hoodies; Karen had produced it from somewhere in her apartment –add that to the list of  _interesting_ details about whatever dynamic Frank Castle and Karen Page have going on—and wrapped you in it to hide the worst of your injuries from any passersby. It’s ridiculously soft, funnily enough, and is only adding to the exhaustion weighing down on you. You nestle yourself in as much as you can to the back seat of Karen’s car and make to close your eyes.

“Hey. Hey, hey! Do not fall asleep right now!” Frank grabs your hand and squeezes hard enough to be uncomfortable. “Keep your eyes open, you hear me?”

“Fuck you, I’m tired,” you whine. You open your eyes anyway.

“How’d you end up running into Frank?” Karen asks from the front seat as she carefully navigates out of Hell’s Kitchen. “You said something about crashing your car?”

“ _I_  didn’t  _crash_  my car,” you grouse. “Some assholes pulled out in front of me on a highway and stopped.”

“And no one called the police? Or an ambulance?”

“I’m pretty sure it was all planned ahead of time. The highway was dead empty just before it happened.”

The car goes silent for a moment, and then Karen says in a voice that’s just a little too steady “I knew working with the X-Men could be dangerous, but I didn’t think things were that crazy.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with them,” you admit. “I’m not really an X-Man, either.”

“But you live at the mansion. And you’re a mutant.”

“I am, but being at the mansion is more for my own safety,” you say with a bitter laugh. “I, uh, grew up in an anti-mutant home. Left once I figured out there was a place that would accept me.”

“You think it had something to do with your parents?” Frank asks.

“I mean, they’ve sent bounty hunters after me before,” you grumble. “It’s not like it’d be the first time.”

Frank tenses next to you. “Who are you parents, ‘xactly?”

You don’t have to guess about why he’s suddenly so uptight. This is the man that spends his life gunning down gangs and crime families and other scums of the Earth; if you were him, you’d be worried about what sort of shit the person you randomly helped save might drag into your life—

Or the life of someone like Karen Page.

_If there’s really something going on there_ , you muse,  _he’s gonna be protective of her_. “They’re no one. Just a couple of assholes who didn’t want their kid when she was growing up, but now that’s she gone they’ve figured out they don’t want anyone else having her either, much less for her to have a life where she’s  _happy_.” Tears start stinging your eyes, and then they’re trickling down your cheeks as you start crying. “They used to lock me in my room –my dad would beat with a belt when I had trouble controlling my mutation—” You choke back a sob, then pain racks through your body from the movement jarring your ribs.

There’s the  _click_  of a seatbelt unbuckling, and then Frank’s sliding over so he’s next to you, holding your shoulders steady so you don’t jerk yourself around unnecessarily. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths. Easy.”

“I can’t ‘breathe deep,’ asshole,” you say with a choked laugh. “Ow.”

“Is abuse really all that common towards mutants?” Karen asks from the front seat. “Not that I don’t believe you or believe it happens, it’s just… disheartening to think about.”

“Unfortunately, it is,” you say as Frank slides back to his seat and buckles himself in; you’ve calmed down again, which means you don’t need to be restrained. “There’s obviously the good families, but we’re kind of scum to society. Freakish abominations.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with you,” Karen insists. “You’re just people.”

You let out a dark laugh. “Tell that to the founders of Harmony.”

Frank’s eyes are on you again. “What?”

“An anti-mutant settlement about an hour from Xavier’s. They actively kill any mutants they can get their hands on; they’ve got a compound out in the middle of the woods where they do it.” You go quiet for a moment. “They would’ve killed Piotr, if we hadn’t rescued him.”

“I didn’t realize things were that bad,” Karen says softly after a moment. “How are people even getting away with that shit?”

“How do people get away with committing atrocities anywhere? They think they have a right to hurt people, and others agree with them. Unfortunately for us, the ‘others’ who agree with them happen to be the people in power.”

The car goes silent again, and something tells you that the wheels in Karen’s head are turning. You don’t know her that well –don’t know her at all, really—but something tells you that the woman that Frank Castle is –seemingly—interested in isn’t the type to roll over all that easy.

Then, Karen clears her throat. “Who’s Piotr?”

You smile softly. “He’s my boyfriend. He’s the one I called at your apartment. I was actually out getting him some presents for his birthday today.”

“That’s sweet. What were you getting him?”

“Art supplies. He’s an artist, so I like to help keep him stocked up.” You blink owlishly when you realize that the bags with everything you’d bought are probably still in the wreckage formerly known as you car. “I’m gonna have to rerun that errand. Right after I get a new ride.”

“It’ll all work out,” Karen reassures you. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Uh…” You try to figure it out, even going as far as to count it out on your fingers—

“She’s concussed, Karen. Maybe don’t make her do math,” Frank says with a chuckle.

“It’s been longer than a year,” you add. “Definitely longer than a year.” You think for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I’d find anyone. I grew up thinking I was unlovable.”

“Anyone can be loved,” Karen says.

If it were any other situation, you’d write it off as a supportive statement.

But Karen’s voice is just a little too pointed, a little too intentional, and Frank suddenly gets very interested in staring at his shoes.

Probable concussion or not, you know you’re not seeing things. But, there’s nothing you can do or say now that won’t make things awkward, so you tuck it all away for later, for when you can dish it all out to Ellie, Wade, and Yukio to get their opinions on it all –which, to be clear, you’ll only do because you know they’d never blab about it.

But yeah, later. Right now, all you want to do is get back home to Piotr.

 

* * *

 

Karen keeps you talking for the rest of the ride, asking questions about Piotr and your new life at Xavier’s until she pulls up the gravel drive of Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters.

The front door opens before Karen even puts the car into park and then Piotr’s sprinting out towards you, followed by a couple of healers.

Frank gets out and directs him to the side where you’re sat—

And then the door’s opening, and Piotr’s there next to you, and you’re both crying.

A couple that cries together, stays together. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Frank helps Piotr unbuckle and get you out of the car, and then you’re being made to lay down on a stretcher by one very blue, very furry Dr. Hank McCoy.

“Hey, doc,” you manage. “How bad do I look?” 

“I’ve seen worse,” he says with a small smile. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

 

* * *

 

You can breathe without your ribs hurting.

It’s the small things in life, really.

Lucky for you, aside from the fractured ribs –and the concussion; you did, in fact, have a concussion—there weren’t any other major injuries. The healers fix you up, Hank checks you over, and then you’re being discharged with a meager amount of painkillers to help with the stiffness and soreness that’ll linger for the next few days.

It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been so much worse.

Piotr sticks by your side for all of it; he holds your hand, lets you squeeze his when you need to, and offers encouragement when he can.

Hank leaves so Piotr can help you get dressed in clean clothes, and you start crying as soon as the door closes.

Piotr’s by your side in an instant –not that he had wandered far from it in the first place. “ _Moya lyubov’_ , what is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You mash your face against his shoulder and sob. “I’m sorry –I’m sorry that I didn’t call, and that I worried you, and that—”

He’s quick to shush you, gentle and loving as he rubs soothing circles on your back with his hands. “ _Nyet, nyet, nyet_. This was not your fault,  _myshka_.” He kisses the top of your head. “Let’s get you dressed, and then let’s get you food.  _Da_?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses each of your eyelids. “What sounds good?”

“I want a burger. With fries.”

He chuckles and kisses the bridge of your nose. “ _Khorosho_.”

“A lot of fries. Like, a metric ton of fries.”

He laughs again and helps you start changing out of your shirt. “We’ll see what we can do.”

 

* * *

 

Karen and Frank, surprisingly enough, are still around when Piotr walks you over to the main side of the Institute. Karen’s talking to Professor Xavier while taking notes in a little notebook, while Frank just generally looks uncomfortable and seems to be set on finding the best places to stand that’ll draw the least amount of attention to him. 

He also looks a lot better, too, which means the healers must’ve gotten a hold of him.

Good.

Karen looks shocked when she sees you. “Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d be walking at all.”

“I’ve always bounced back quick,” you say with a shrug. “But having healers that can literally make your wounds close themselves by touching you doesn’t hurt things either.”

She nods. “Yeah, I bet they don’t.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifts in a grin anyway.

You manage to make eye contact with him –no small feat, since he seems hellbent on memorizing the grain of the wood flooring—and nod in greeting. “Thanks for helping me out.”

He nods back. “Any time.”

“You guys alright? You need anything to eat?” You point in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m gonna have a burger—”

“Actually, we should probably head out,” Karen says. “I’ve got work tomorrow, and I still have an article that I need to wrap up before morning hits.”

The relief on Frank’s face at being given an out is palpable, so you drop it. “Alright. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me bleed on your couch.”

Karen laughs and nods. “No problem. It’s definitely not the worst thing that couch has ever seen. Hopefully, if we run into each other again, it’ll be under better circumstances with less blood involved.”

“We can always hope.” As you watch them leave, an old memory flashes into your mind’s eye:

_“You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men.”_

Normally, any memories from your childhood are liable to send you reeling –especially any that connect to the countless times you were dragged into your town’s church and told, over and over, how you were a perversion of God’s creation.

But now, instead of panicking, you can’t help but regard Frank and Karen in quiet contemplation as they walk out the front door of Xavier’s; the two people that, without really knowing you or having any investment in your wellbeing past the general goodwill that decent humans possessed, had spent the past couple of hours helping you get to safety.

After a life of being beaten down –specifically by non-mutants—it’s an interesting turnabout.

You smile to yourself, just a little, as you watch Frank open the door for Karen and usher her out into the night.  _Salt of the earth indeed_.

 

* * *

 

You wind up on the couch, nestled against Piotr’s side, happily munching on your burger while the two of you watch old  _Mythbusters_  reruns. 

(You did, in fact, get a small mountain of fries –and decent servings of fruit and vegetables, because Piotr made your plate for you.)

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice soft as he kisses the top of your head.

“Sore. Tired. Hungry.” You set your burger down. “I’m gonna need a new phone. I lost mine in the crash.”

He rubs a hand up and down your back. “We’ll get it figured out.”

“I’m gonna need a new car, too. And to replace everything in my purse.”

He wraps his arms around you as you start shaking and presses his lips against your shoulder. “Breathe,  _myshka_. Everything will be taken care of.”

Your lower lip trembles and you squeeze your eyes shut. “I had presents for your birthday picked out and everything. I lost those, too.”

He kisses your temple, then your forehead. “I would rather have you than presents.”

“Yeah, I get it, I just—” You sniffle and rub your hands over your face. “I’m just upset about it. I get it’s not even that big a deal in the grand scheme of things, but I still just—”

He gently settles you in his lap when you start crying and rocks you back and forth. “It is okay to be upset. You had upsetting day.”

“I was just really happy with what I picked out, and now I’m not gonna be able to leave the mansion again until we figure out who went after me and why, and I really just want to be able to buy you a birthday gift, dammit.”

“I am very flattered,  _myshka_ , but trust me when I say it does not matter to me. I will not be hurt if you cannot get me gifts.”

“I know, but it matters to  _me_.”

He goes quiet at that, opting to just hold you and rock you back and forth while you cry.

It’s been a shit day. Your car was totaled, you were kidnapped after being forced into an accident, you had to spend over an hour in the medical bay at the mansion to get your ribs patched up, and now you’re down a phone, an ID and debit card, a car, and your gifts for Piotr.

You know that you’re lucky. That things could be much, much worse. That if you hadn’t run into Frank on that rooftop, you’d probably be in the trunk of another car right now.

You’re alive, you’re healed, and you’re back with Piotr. You’ve got a lot to be grateful for.

And, in the morning, you will be grateful for it.

But it’s been a shit day, and right now all you want to do is cry over the fact that you can’t buy your boyfriend a damn replacement birthday present.

So that’s what you do. You’ve earned it.

Crying’s healthy, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> frank castle deserves friends. dammit.
> 
> Also! Crying is very healthy! It helps your body process out different chemicals and toxins that build up in your system when you're stressed! Don't try to keep yourself from crying if crying is an option; it's legitimately good for you to cry!


End file.
